


RenaldxBonehead

by discocat55



Category: RenaldXBonehead
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discocat55/pseuds/discocat55





	1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE  
It was a cold evening at the Sodomoticum, and the black castle which had served the Alcantarian clergy for centuries retained a remarkably warm feeling. The sun had just lowered itself beneath the Far sea leaving the castle in darkness if not only for the torches which stood perched from its walls. The mountain of stone that served both as temple and stronghold was filled with echoes of prayer that came from the innermost halls. “Ukudumisa ku’be ngumlusi ozokudumisa...” The voices boomed in unison and louder. A moment of silence within the temple followed as the first bell rang. It stood towering over the rest of the castle as the first and smallest bell among the three others. “Uhlala ezinhliziyweni zeth’u” The second bell rang further and more powerful as the peace of the forest itself was badly disturbed now replaced with the sound of birds fluttering their wings upward in fright. The sound of the second bell extended beyond even into the Frigus valley as now travelling merchants and pilgrims alike gazed at the ancient castle. The second bell was about half as large as an imperial court and whose great size even the magnificent castles of the Scantonians could even dare to match. The tower which held the third bell looked incapable of housing such a titan and yet the structure stood strong and firm as it had done for millennium. It was separated from the other two and whose foundation originated directly from the lower sanctum; the place where the choosing ceremony was taking place. The task of ringing the bells was no sacred ritual, but divine retribution. This time the silence that accompanied the bell was longer and more drawn out. The Sturmwindlers who were stationed at the castle had worn special coifs which had extra padding at the ears so as to shield their eardrums from the sound of the bells, however, they knew it would be futile against the third and final toll. The man who climbed the staircase of the last tower was no priest. He was a goliath of a man and was shackled with a brass collar around his neck, wrists, and ankles. Leading him by chain up the staircase was a frail and wise looking Bishop. “The Grand Cardinal… is he a good man?” The slave asked in a heavy accent. 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. All I know is that the gods chose him to lead and they wish me to obey. And I shall.” The slave could sense reluctance in the Bishop.  
“There is only one path now lad, and that’s forward.”  
Even in the chains the man could’ve easily overpowered and likely killed the fragile Bishop, but instead followed in dogmatic silence. 

After most of the long dreadful climb they were still many steps away from the trapdoor which led to the upper bell, however, the man knew that even despite Illiac’s blessings he’d still perish if he didn’t make his descent soon. “Turn around, Albar. ” The giant faced the priest, his dominating presence looming over him “Your hands” Albar put forth his monstrous hands towards the priest’s own. They were tanned and hard like leather unlike the delicate flesh of the Bishop now releasing them from captivity. Albar had a look of his face as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated. The priest looked up at the giant as he began to undo his shackles. “Salvation, yes?” Albar spoke in a heavy Norlilsk accent. “Aye, Albar” the Priest said as he undid the shackle on his left hand.  
“You speak a foreign language, friend.” The priest smiled as he spoke those words.  
“It is your language.”  
“And yet to you it is foreign.”  
“Aye…” Albar spoke as the final shackle came undone. “Now your neck.” The priest reached over to the muscular mass which separated his head from the rest of his body his, arms nearly out of reach. “A man’s last thoughts should be of home. Tell me lad, how was your home on the Silver Isles” The bishop asked as he reached around his neck to unlock Albar’s collar. “It was…” Albar hesitated and raised his head in confidence “Geluk’kig” he answered in his native speech as the collar around his neck was released. Albar’s hand felt the newly freed part of his neck where the collar had been, his neck more pale and strained than the rest of his body. “Vir Jou, my hart.” The bishop’s hand touched the end of his neck then balled up into a fist after landing on his heart. A look of surprise came across Albar’s face followed by one of pride.  
“This is where we part.” He let the chains fall onto the stone ground with a loud clang and gripped Albar’s shoulder tightly while leaning in towards his ear.  
“Remember, friend. There is nothing in the Great Beyond. Nothing.” The Bishop’s words penetrated the Norilsk man’s very soul. Albar had opened the final door slightly ajar and his heart grew anxious as he could see in the corner of his eye the outer rim of the bell. He looked back at the Bishop who was now at least a dozen steps away from him. At this moment the Bishop turned his head towards Albar, though not fully, almost aware of the glance.  
“No... Savior?” Albar probed.  
A pause broke.  
“There was once. Now…”  
A smile grew across the Bishop’s lips as if he was recalling something from long ago.  
“Now… now he sleeps.”  
Albar turned and closed the door behind him then made his way across the last few steps pondering Joseph’s words. Despite this, he knew his duty. Nothing would change that now.

As Albar made his way up the last set of stairs he remembered his past and as he did the bell’s full form grew more visible. As he approached he found his past did not seem as distant it truly were. He could remember his mother, her face as sweet to him as nectar. He could remember as if yesterday he and his four brothers running through and about the meadows of the Silver Isles filled with joyful glee. He remembered Grandma’s stew as if he was with her now, Oh that stew. And then he remembered the fear, the dread, the death, there was so much of it. Too much of it. But now he was reassured with his heart steady, as he saw the bell not nearly as large as he had imagined, because for now;  
Now it was all one.


	2. SIXES AND SEVENS

CHAPTER 2: SIXES AND SEVENS

“Here… I found it” Renald urged with fatigue as the darkness of the forest began to consume everything leaving behind only the faintest remnants of moonlight. He lowered his lantern on the ground giving the rocky soil an earthly glow as he brought himself low on a single knee and began sweeping the dirt and moss to the side exposing the cover of a maple strongbox.   
Renald clawed at the spot picking up dirt and moss under his nails, however, exposing the delicate maple in the process. He rose clutching the box close to his chest with both hands.   
Though the tender soil of the forest had eroded it he was still able to marvel at the brillant intricacy of the carvings which seemed to radiate an aura of ancient power. “So long it’s been—” Renald was interrupted by the audible rustling of leaves in the distance. He swung his hips abruptly towards the noise his hand nearing the hilt of his blade. His heart began to shake and quiver over the thought of losing everything he had worked for. The thought of losing everything now of all moments to an arrow from the dark troubled him deeply. “Show yourself petty thief!” The echo of Renald’s voice seemed to expand stretching to the very limits of the vast woodlands than retracting into silence just as quickly as it came.  
The forest itself appeared to reply to Renald’s remark. The swaying of trees as they bent at the will of the unceasing wind. The cracking of twigs resembling arms reaching out as if attempting to touch the Earth below. The cry of an owl as it hunted its prey. The Alcantarian woodlands bore an uncanny eerie feeling to Renald, one that rattled him to his very core. Though Renald himself did not know why there was a constant nervous tension in the forest that brought chills down his spine. His uneasiness was perpetuated by a series of footsteps each one beginning to grow closer and closer to him. The figure was shrouded in the shadow of night and began approaching Renald with uninterrupted caution. Renald was on edge but he recognized those footsteps instinctively.  
Bonehead stepped out from the cloak of shadow revealing himself. Bonehead seemed less “man” than bear and seemed almost strangled by layers of padded gambeson, boiled leather, and a large sable cloak with a fur interior that appeared to mesh into the deep black of the night. Bonehead’s face was hidden behind a crystalline mask with peculiar engravings that seemed to indicate its place among forgotten Nog relics. It glimmered in the moonlight translucently with a ghost-like glow that seemed to radiate from the two slits where his eyes were meant to be.  
“I presume you have the object at hand.” Bonehead questioned Renald in his usual posh voice while leaning against the deformed trunk of a tree awaiting an answer.  
An answer did not come as Renald was still transfixed on the strongbox and kept feeling the smooth wooden exterior repeatedly with his fingers. “You should leave. The Alcantarians approach at this very moment and they will give no mercy to one who invades their sacred ground. Especially to an Other...” Renald warned while lifting the strongbox in the air admiring its beautiful craftsmanship with a single eye.  
“Very funny.” Bonehead said tonelessly and began approaching Renald and much like him his eyes captivated by the strongbox. “Did you forget? Unlike you pitiful mortals, I am not hindered by pain or for that matter any of these supposed benefits brought about this accursed flesh. Though the common man sees it not I am far more free than they’ll be in the entirety of their minuscule lives.”   
“And yet here you are, undying and yet, where is your legacy? Is it your name that permeates the Grey Book? Tell me, was it an immortal who has Scantonia now fully unified and the strongest force among the great four? Was it an immortal who brought about your kind’s downfall?  
“Your lives are fleeting…”  
“And that is where our strength lies.” Renald interrupted Bonehead and now glared straight at him.  
An awkward silence now befell between the two.   
“Unless you came here to simply pest me about my mortal being I suggest you explain yourself or draw.” His stance changed as Renald gestured with his hip displaying the sheathed longsword underneath his fur mantle.  
“Jestful as ever Renald! I came because I wished to witness glory.” He paused giving the box a glance as a look of confusion took Renald’s face due to Bonehead’s excitement. “I came to rejoice with my fellow man that he, unlike so many others, have found what they—” Bonehead became briefly lost in himself as he began to reminisce of memories from a distant past. “Not very often that a man not only knows what he truly wants but have found it and taken it for their own.” Renald stood still, wordless and continuing his admiration for his still unopened prize.   
“It’s a privilege few can entertain.” Renald felt a tinge of anger from Bonehead’s words. He could not explain it himself but he needed more. Wanted more. He felt as if he’d been watered down into something merely relative to the successes of other men before him. He felt powerless. He felt human.  
“Well then, are you going to open it or wait out here in the dark caressing a box as if it were a lover?”   
Renald looked down at the box one last time than at Bonehead with the tightness around his mouth beginning to fade away into an uneasy smile. “I wish to savor this moment. You of all people on this green earth should know how well earned this is.” Renald said clutching his pride.  
“Well that may be the case but we must hurry.” Bonehead’s comments faded away in Renald’s mind as from the corner of his eye he could spot shadows twisting and contorting within the abyss of the dark. “What is it?” Bonehead asked while scanning the black unknown of the forest.   
A cold breeze set through blowing through the leaves causing them to swirl and spin in a lustrous eddying in which they danced around the lantern’s bright light against the black drape of sky. The thunder of horses beginning to move against them along with the crackling of leaves being torn and shattered made Renald’s gut turn like he’d been struck in the liver. The benefits of Bonehead’s company was quickly coming into fruition as the mysterious figures exited the shadows and hovered on the verge between darkness and light wrapped around the two adventurers like a tight glove. Silence befell the forest. No longer did the wind persist against the alder woodland and rattle the very core of the earth with its might. No longer was the crashing of mounted beasts as they rode forth into the night deafening to bats and snakes alike. A single man on horseback approached them. The audacious tapping of the man’s horse as it moved sluggishly created a gradual anticipation that tormented the two greatly. The man was seated on a large horse whose height hid the features of his face. The man dismounted and walked towards the two his hands near his belt preparing to draw if need be, but otherwise relaxed and unexpecting. His face was badly scarred from burns and blades alike with bronze skin that only appeared to highlight his facial deformities even further. His brows sat slanted above his eyes with heavy bags underneath that seemed slow yet all-seeing. With a gesture of his hand a flood of light engulfed the forest as the torches of his men were set ablaze. The forest was now his.  
“My name is Sir Aldur Darkholme and you are to come with me on command of Archbishop Joseph.” The lord spoke softly. So softly that any reply would be an act of obedience. Obedience to his silence.  
“And if we choose not to?” Renald’s voice had a rebellious tension to it.  
“You won’t.” Aldur’s grip tightened around his sword.   
“My directions were merely to bring you alive. As long as you’re alive we can do anything we want to you.” The figures loomed in closer with the detail in their faces becoming unveiled under the exposure of the light. The cold-sweated moisture on their faces reflected the flame of their torches showing their unkempt hair and ragged faces. Their armor seemed as if it was completely handcrafted by themselves, with barely any metal other than a few iron bearings and an accessory or two likely looted from a poor soul they had killed in combat. Strapped in little more than black leather and shabby clothing they obviously weren't Alcantarians.  
“Something’s amiss...” Renald whispered as his lips neared the place where Bonehead’s ears would’ve been if he had been composed of flesh. Bonehead was not accustomed to being rendered useless and was not going to heed to any of the claims of the mercenaries or the man who led them.  
“I pity you savages. All of you. Do I need lecture you fools! Your very act of standing before me as you are is an insult to my own…” Renald quickly interrupted Bonehead gripping his left shoulder tightly and leaning in towards him indicating that Bonehead’s speech was going to lead to their demise.  
“Oh…. faithful companion why must you tarnish my name with such vile profanity!” Renald had to act quickly to protect himself and Bonehead from whatever “non-life threatening” abuse they’ll receive at the hands of the mercenaries.   
Realization took Bonehead’s face as he quickly understood his circumstances.  
“I apologize! I simply misspoke and henceforth retract my claims as to your innate primitiveness as I’ve found no comrade who could match your loyalty to our friendship.” Renald swallowed his spit in anxious wait.  
Though Bonehead lacked the sufficient flesh Renald could easily tell that under his mask whatever was there was scrunched up stubbornly and that he would at any given opportunity sling more disdainful language at the tip of his non-existent lungs at the gang of men they found themselves surrounded by.  
“Quite an interesting couple you are.” The Darkholme commented.  
Bonehead began to calm himself adjusting his stature as he prepared to ask a question as politely as he possibly could despite how compelled he felt to indignantly profess his disgust for the men and the Darkholme himself.  
“Should consider yourselves lucky, you two” The Alcantarian spoke his head now glaring at the rest of his men who seemed unfazed by Bonehead’s comments.  
“Lucky that we are to be blessed with one another’s presence in this unforgiving and desolate world?” Bonehead asked.  
“You’re lucky that these men don’t understand a shred of common tongue.”


End file.
